


Not Strictly Business

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alpha Lestrade, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Mycroft, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demisexuality, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Omega Mycroft, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Sleeping Together, Top Greg Lestrade, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg agreed to service Mycroft's heats, it was strictly a business transaction. As those heats come to an end, he realizes he wants something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Greg sighed and stretched. Mycroft was gone, of course. That was part of the rules. Greg would service Mycroft’s heats, but it was merely a business transaction. When his heat was over, Greg would inevitably wake up and find Mycroft gone, the last lingering scent of them in the bed, an envelope of money on the table. Greg never took the money. He imagined it was probably socked away in a Swiss bank account with his name on it, but he didn’t ask and Mycroft didn’t offer.

He felt the warm sunshine coming through the window. They’d been doing this nearly three years now. He’d be lying if he said he never imagined this being more, but he was careful not to let Mycroft see. He was afraid that if he did, Mycroft would shut him out all together, find another alpha with less baggage. The thought of another alpha touching Mycroft made him want to growl low in his throat.

He was doomed.

Grumbling a bit to himself, Greg rolled out of bed, resisting the urge to take one more whiff of the bedsheets. After all, he shouldn’t linger. The man he saw mid-heat was not the man the rest of the world saw. Mycroft in heat was wanton, needy, hungry for touch in a way he’d never be out of it. As if the intimacy he got in his heats needed to sustain him until he had heat again. Which was probably more or less true.

Mycroft was also getting older and his heats over the last year had been coming further apart. To Greg it felt like their time together would probably draw to a close in the next year or so as his lover’s fertile years ceased. He knew Mycroft had never been pregnant, never even wanted to carry a pup, and of course it made sense for the life he’d made for himself.

Sometimes though, Greg saw a little red-headed child and wondered.

He shook his head. Sentiment, as Mycroft would say. Greg was careful to guard his feelings around the man, especially the few encounters they had outside of heat. He never knew why Mycroft had chosen him in the first place. But shortly after Greg’s association with Sherlock he’d found himself here in this house, this bed, servicing the heat of the most amazing man he’d ever met. He never asked what Mycroft had done before he came along, but he imagined he could have had his pick of alphas. Which is why it still made no sense that he’d chosen Greg.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Greg went to the bathroom to shower. Might as well enjoy the luxury for a few minutes longer. He cleaned up, regretfully washing the last of Mycroft from his skin, shaved, and headed downstairs. He ignored the envelope on the table, grabbed the still warm coffee in a takeaway cup, and headed out to face his day.

There were a few fresh cases at the Yard. Nothing was mentioned of his absence, but there wouldn’t be. They were used to it, and Sally was an alpha herself. She gave Greg a sympathetic smile in greeting. She didn’t understand any better than anyone else, but she knew how he felt about the enigmatic Mycroft Holmes.

The last case of the day ended up being a doozy. He called Sherlock from the crime scene, over the roll of Sally’s eyes. Sherlock appeared a short time later, gave Greg a sniff, muttered under his breath, and proceeded to dazzle over the corpse while Greg took notes.

“Pedestrian,” Sherlock complained as he finished. “Obvious.”

It was just him and Greg now, Sherlock having shooed everyone else away. “I didn’t have to call you,” said Greg.

“Just because you’re shagging my brother doesn’t mean you need to give me charity cases,” grumbled Sherlock.

Greg raised an eyebrow. “That’s never been the case and you know it.”

“He won’t have any more heats soon. I predict less than a year.” Sherlock studied Greg.

Greg tried to keep the cold spike of loss from his face. “Then I’ll still work with you Sherlock. What happens between me and him has nothing to do with you.”

“You say that now,” said Sherlock, adjusting his scarf. He looked at Greg a moment longer. “He’ll be taking a late supper at Le Gavroche in about fifteen minutes.” And then Sherlock was gone.

Shaking his head, Greg wrapped up what he could and left Sally in charge. This was madness. This could ruin everything. But he still found himself in a cab five minutes later, nervously drumming his fingers on his knees. If Mycroft threw him out, he supposed he couldn’t blame him. This was violating almost all of the rules: Greg wasn’t supposed to contact Mycroft unless there was some delay when he was called. Minimal contact outside of heat, this was strictly business, after all, and if Greg couldn’t or wouldn't maintain that then he needed to bow out.

He was still standing outside the restaurant twenty minutes after Sherlock left, adjusting his shirt and trying to smooth wrinkles out of his suit. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The maitre’d looked down on him as he entered. “I’m afraid we’re closed for the evening,” he said as haughtily as possible.

Greg slipped him money. “I’m looking for someone,” he said.

The maitre'd raised an eyebrow. “Whom?”

Greg handed over some more, almost wishing he’d taken the envelope this time. “Mycroft Holmes.”

The maitre'd hummed. “I think I might know whom you’re talking about.”

Gritting his teeth, Greg handed over a bit more cash, which quickly vanished. “Just one moment, sir,” he said, turning into the restaurant. _Sod that_ , Greg followed him anyway.

The maitre d had taken only a few steps into the nearly empty restaurant before he turned to face Greg. “I did tell Sir to wait,” he said, putting a hand up.

“Thats enough, Alain.” Mycroft’s voice was sharp and cold.

Sniffing, the maitre’d bowed and stepped aside. 

“And give him back whatever he paid you. All of it.”

Bowing slightly, he handed back the cash to Greg. Greg took a bit of it and handed it back to him. “Keep it.”

The money disappeared into a pocket and the maitre’d returned to the front.

“What are you doing here?” Mycroft’s voice hadn’t grown any warmer. Greg followed him back to the table and took the seat he gestured at.

“I wanted to see you,” said Greg, suddenly feeling like an adolescent attempting to ask out their first date.

“My heat has completed. You know the rules.” Mycroft went back to his sole.

Greg snagged a glass from a nearby table and poured himself some wine, taking a moment to appreciate the vintage. “And what if I said I don’t care about the rules?”

Mycroft’s hands stilled for a moment, before continuing. “Then our arrangement would be concluded.”

“And if I wanted to continue seeing you?” Greg watched him, sipping the fine wine.

“There is no need for you to concern yourself with me outside of heat. If you have grown sentimental then it is best that we end this now.” Mycroft didn’t look up to meet his gaze.

“I didn’t say need. I said wanted.” Boldly, Greg reached across and put his hand over Mycroft’s.

Mycroft swallowed quickly before he choked. Now he did raise his eyes. As always, Greg was caught by the fields of blue that reminded him of the sea near his Grandmere’s home. “Why now?” he asked.

“Because I don’t want to stop seeing you just because your heats stop. Because I’m tired of acting like this all means nothing. I’m tired of living for those days when I can wake up and find you still in my arms. Sentiment, I know, but I love you Mycroft Holmes.”

Mycroft stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. Those bright blue eyes searched his face, looking for anything, any sign that he didn’t fully mean what he’d said. Greg threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s.

Shaking his hand free, Mycroft reached for his glass and took a sip.

“I knew you had grown sentimental. I should have ended this a year ago,” he said at last. He took a breath and Greg could see him hardening himself.

“No.” said Greg, reaching for him again. “Don’t shut me out. Please, Mycroft.”

“Please leave, Inspector.” said Mycroft in a voice as cold and hard as a Siberian winter.

Greg wanted to fight, wanted to shake Mycroft, to see what they could have, but the look in his eyes told him he’d already lost. His shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he said softly, draining the rest of his glass. “I don’t care about the money. I never want to see it.” 

Searching Mycroft’s face one more time, Greg could see only the wall that he kept between himself and the rest of the world. And he knew he’d never see it crack again. If Mycroft didn’t want him in his life, then he wouldn’t be in his life. He swallowed hard and stood. He’d ruined it. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut for one more year, for two, maybe three more heats. Someone else would be taking care of Mycroft and the thought made his stomach turn.

Ignoring the maitre’d that was staring daggers at him, Greg went back outside. It was drizzling. He turned up his collar. The cab ride home he replayed the whole conversation in his mind, wondering if he could have done anything differently. Other than not doing it at all.

He paid the cab and trudged up the stairs to his flat. Not bothering with turning on the light he dropped his keys on the shelf, toed off his shoes and hung up his coat. He barely bothered getting undressed, climbing into a cold bed that smelled only of himself and dreaming of warm blue eyes that looked at him with want and need.

**

Three days later Greg found himself at another crime scene. The omega wife of the victim had turned up just after they did and he’d had to escort her away as she sobbed in his arm. Rotten business. Just as he was getting a handle on things, Sherlock showed up, despite not being called.

“I think we got this one,” said Greg. "You can go home."

Sherlock peered at him. “You haven’t been sleeping. Mycroft turned you down cold, didn’t he? Idiot.”

Greg blinked and was about to ask which one was the idiot when a black car rolled up to the kerb and Mycroft himself stepped out, ignoring Greg and glaring at his brother. “Mummy is expecting us at dinner.”

Despite the last few days, Greg felt his heart twist all over again as he looked at Mycroft. The omega was purposely looking only at Sherlock. A cool breeze tangled Greg’s coat around his legs and suddenly Mycroft’s attention snapped to him.

In moments the omega was nearly on top of him. “Already found yourself another?” he asked with a sneer.

“Oh, for pity’s sake Mycroft,” Sherlock interrupted. “Clearly it was an upset omega and bonded to this victim behind us as they share scents. For someone who always warned me about sentiment you’re certainly letting it cloud your mind.”

Mycroft turned to speak to Sherlock, only for Greg to be the one to cut him off. “There’s been no one else, Mycroft. Not for the last three years and certainly not in the last three days.”

Looking between the two of them, Mycroft glared and stalked to the car. Sherlock shrugged and followed him, leaving Greg behind to watch them.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked Sally, stepping up behind him.

“I don’t even know anymore,” grumbled Greg, turning around. “Let’s get this sorted.”

**

Late that night, Greg was camped out on his sofa, picking at takeaway he wasn’t even hungry for, barely paying attention to the football highlights. For a man who claimed to keep no sentiment, Mycroft had been awfully jealous, awfully fast. Maybe there was hope after all.

A knock on his door surprised him. He glanced at the time and set aside the container, cautiously approaching the door and and peering through the peephole. To his surprise, it was Mycroft on his doorstep.

He quickly opened the door. “Evening,” he said carefully. Mycroft had never been here, as far as he knew, never inserted himself into Greg’s life farther than what was agreed. “Hungry? Got some takeaway left.”

“No, thank you,” said Mycroft, standing awkwardly as if uncertain what to do with himself.

Greg sat down on the sofa and gestured him to a seat. Mycroft perched on the other end, looking around a bit more. “You could afford better.”

“Been here two years,” said Greg. “They’re used to me and I’m used to them. Never saw a point in moving.”

“I suppose it does help to have an Inspector living close by.” Mycroft reached over and picked up one of the containers.

Greg handed him a fork and leaned back in his seat. “I suppose it does.” This was all nearly alarmingly domestic. It was as odd seeing Mycroft Holmes in his living room as it would be to see the Queen.

The telly played softly as Mycroft ate slowly. “Perhaps I reacted a bit hastily,” he said carefully.

“This afternoon or at the restaurant?” asked Greg, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. My feelings haven’t changed.”

“Nor have mine apparently.” Mycroft set the container down and took a sip of Greg’s water.

“Yours?” asked Greg, watching him.

“There is a reason I’ve been so careful, Gregory. Why I’m not there when you wake on that last day. A man such as myself can afford many luxuries, but true companionship is not one of them.”

“I’ve never asked to bond you. I know you can’t, not with your job. I just...I would like to be in your life.” Mycroft’s hand was on the sofa and Greg covered it with his own.

Mycroft swallowed and looked down at their hands. This time it was him who entwined his fingers with Greg’s, making the Inspector’s breath catch. “I have not slept well these last few days either.”

Greg reached over and flipped off the telly before tugging Mycroft to his feet. “Come on then.”

Mycroft blinked, looking confused. “Gregory?”

“It’s late, and neither of us have been sleeping. I’ve got a solution to that.” He led Mycroft down the short hallway to his bedroom, not bothering with the light. He was already in a pair of lounge pants and old t-shirt. “What do you sleep in?” he asked. In heat Mycroft was always gloriously naked.

“A clean t-shirt is fine,” said Mycroft, carefully removing his suit coat.

Greg tossed him one of his own and hung up Mycroft’s suit as he stripped down to pants and pulled the faded shirt over his head.

Mycroft got into bed while Greg was putting the suit in his closet. He looked vulnerable in the light from the street, pale. It made Greg wanted to curl up around him and keep him safe. Instead, Greg go into the other side of the bed and lay on his back. Mycroft moved to rest his head on his chest.

“Do you need to set an alarm?” asked Greg.

“My mobile has it already.” Mycroft stifled a yawn.

Smiling softly, Greg ran fingers through his hair, feeling Mycroft relax and slowly fall asleep in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft’s alarm went off at an ungodly hour. He started and rolled over to get it. Greg smiled and slipped out of bed, going to the kitchen to fix tea as Mycroft got dressed. He pressed a cup into his hand and brushed a piece of hair into place. “Will you come by tonight for dinner?”

“Come to mine,” said Mycroft. “I’ll text you the time.”

“Okay,” said Greg. He hesitated a moment, then leaned in to give him a quick kiss.

For a heartbeat, Mycroft looked surprised, but then a smile bloomed across his face. “Until tonight.”

Greg watched him go, then headed back to bed for another hour or so of sleep. He buried his face against Mycroft’s pillow, breathing him in until he nodded off again.

**

Sally raised an eyebrow at him as came into work, practically whistling. “Looks like you got things worked out.”

“Getting there, yeah,” said Greg. “Let’s see what goes on today.”

Greg found that nothing could diminish his good mood. Not a bit of evidence getting lost (it was found two hours later), not Anderson bickering with another forensic specialist, not even spilling his afternoon coffee.

Just as his day was wrapping up, he got the promised text from Mycroft. He texted back with a question, and soon enough he was standing on the man’s doorstep with a bottle of red.

Mycroft gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile as he let him in and led him to the kitchen. Greg found himself relaxing as he was surrounded by the familiar comfort of Mycroft’s scent. They ignored the fancy dining room and instead ate in the kitchen, feet tangled together, neither of them speaking of it as it they made small talk about one another’s days.

When dinner was finished they retreated to the study. Greg had become familiar with Mycroft’s house over the last years, exploring it when the omega was fast asleep, but never leaving his side for long. A fire burned in the fireplace and soon they sat on the low sofa in front of it. Mycroft leaned against him, Greg’s arm around him, just listening to him talk.

When the hour grew late enough, they headed upstairs. Greg felt his cock twitch as they approached the bedroom, a no doubt Pavlovian response to the many heats he’d spent here. Mycroft looked at him as he caught scent of his arousal, but again, nothing was said. Mycroft gave him a pair of pyjamas and they crawled into bed together, Mycroft tucked up against Greg’s side as if he belonged there.

**

After that they settled into a routine. It wasn’t every night, and they didn’t always alternate, but more often than not, they would find themselves at one or another’s place, eating a late supper and spending time just being together. A pair of Mycroft’s pyjamas made it’s way permanently to Greg’s bedroom, and a pair of Greg’s lounge pants made it’s way to Mycroft’s.

Sometimes there were kisses, almost always initiated by Greg and returned softly. There was cuddling and touching, and Greg slept better with Mycroft by his side than at any other time. Sherlock rolled his eyes the first time he caught Mycroft’s scent on the Inspector, but he’d said nothing, and Greg got the feeling he was secretly pleased.

**

Finally, three months into...whatever this was, Mycroft suggested that they leave London for the weekend. Greg wondered what it meant, but he happily agreed and made the arrangements for time off. Sally looked oddly pleased by the whole idea.

Mycroft’s car was waiting when he got off of work, and Greg knew his luggage was already in the trunk. He shrugged out of his jacket and Mycroft reached over to take his hand. Greg tugged him close and kissed his forehead as they left London behind them.

It turned out to be a private cottage, surrounded by hills and grass and the occasional sheep. A far cry from the city.

“I hope this is acceptable,” said Mycroft as Greg carried in their luggage.

“Anything with you is acceptable,” smiled Greg, stealing a kiss as he passed him.

Mycroft made a simple supper for them and they sat outside in the cool evening breeze, listening to the distant sounds of sheep and watching the golden sunset. 

Finishing his wine, Mycroft set it aside and reached for Greg’s hand, eyes still on the horizon. “I’ll be having a heat again soon, I think.”

“You know I’ll take care of you,” said Greg, watching the way the last bits of light touched Mycroft’s skin.

Mycroft started to speak and stopped. Greg waited patiently as the gloaming gathered around them. “I’ve never engaged in intercourse outside of heat,” said Mycroft at last.

Greg wasn’t surprised. “It’s fine,” he said.

Biting his lip, Mycroft turned to face him. “I’m not sure that I want to.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here for you, Mycroft. Sex is nice, but it’s not required.” Greg met his eyes.

Nodding, Mycroft let go of his hand and gathered the dishes. Greg let him, knowing he wanted a few moments alone in the cottage. He breathed in the fresh air and the lingering scent of Mycroft, finally going in as the stars came out.

Mycroft had a small fire going and was sitting in front of it, clearly lost in thought. Greg sat next to him and gathered him into his arms, feeling his heartbeat and so grateful for what he had.

No more words were spoken that night and they once again went to bed side by side.

The next day they took a hike through the countryside. Greg listened as Mycroft named the flora and fauna they passed. They shared a picnic lunch and hiked back. This time, it was Greg that fixed supper.

As they lay in bed together, Greg could tell that Mycroft was awake. “You want me,” said Mycroft quietly, as if the night could cocoon his words.

“Yes,” answered Greg.

“But you’re willing to not, to only have intercourse when I’m in heat.”

“I told you, Mycroft, it’s you I care about.”

Mycroft was so quiet that Greg thought he’d fallen asleep, starting to drift off himself.

“Will you make love to me?”

Greg’s eyes shot open. Mycroft was watching him, nibbling his lower lip, watching the alpha, clearly anxious. Swallowing, Greg reached out to touch his cheek. “Is that what you truly want?”

Mycroft nodded. “My heats...it’s all a blur of hormones and being full of you and sleep and craving. I want to know what it’s truly like. I want to remember.” Mycroft’s voice was a whisper.

Greg studied his face in the darkness. Finally he leaned up and kissed him tenderly. Mycroft’s breath caught, but he kissed him back, one hand drifting down to run through Greg’s short hair.

For a bit, they only kissed, breathing each other’s air, small gasps and the slip of a tongue. Greg let Mycroft explore and experiment as he wished, as if trying out every sort of kiss he could think of.

Greg’s hands drifted up and down Mycroft’s sides, careful not to trap him, sliding underneath his shirt to touch soft skin. Mycroft pulled back just long enough to tug off his clothes then straddled Greg’s still clothed waist and resumed kissing him again. Greg squeezed his arse, parting his cheeks, knowing that his own erection was pressing up against him.

Mycroft rolled his hips and Greg broke the kiss to moan, hands gripping his lover’s hips as he tried to contain himself, not wanting to overwhelm him or scare him off. The scent of his arousal, of their arousal, clouded the room.

“It’s never been like this,” said Mycroft with wonder as he sat back and looked down at Greg. “I’ve never wanted someone, not outside of my heat.”

Greg leaned up to kiss him. “It’ll be a bit different, you’ve got less natural slick, but I’ll take it easy, I promise.”

Mycroft moved off him and lay on his back. “I trust you.”

Greg kissed him again, stripping off his own clothes before moving down the bed. “If you need or want me to stop at any time, just say the word, okay?”

Mycroft nodded, watching as Greg parted his pale thighs and nosed at his entrance. He breathed in the heady scent and darted his tongue out to lick the little bit of slick that had trickled onto Mycroft’s thigh.

Moaning, Mycroft spread his legs wider for him. Greg shifted up to lap at his cock, gently pressing one finger into him. Inside of heat, Mycroft never needed or wanted much prep, but this was different.

“Here,” said Mycroft, passing him lube that must have been in the bedside drawer. Greg wondered if he’d brought it himself. Kissing the head of Mycroft’s small cock, he slicked his fingers and pressed in a second one, pumping them slowly.

“Good,” groaned Mycroft, arching his back. 

Greg swallowed his cock, watching the way he gasped and shifted. One hand grabbed the headboard, the other one tugged at the strands of Greg’s hair.

“You’re beautiful,” said Greg as he added another finger.

Mycroft bit his lip and looked down at him, eyes blown dark and needy, rocking his hips against Greg’s hand. Raising his head, Greg shifted again, kissing from his belly button up until he could claim swollen lips once again. Mycroft moaned and wrapped one leg around his waist.

“Almost ready, love,” said Greg, the endearment slipping out before he could catch it.

Mycroft stared at him, silence stretching out. Greg kissed him again, withdrawing his fingers and blindly slicking his cock. He pressed against Mycroft and the omega groaned, wrapping another leg around his alpha’s hips. Greg easily slipped inside, thrusting slowly.

“You do love me,” whispered Mycroft as he wrapped his arms around him.

“For a long time,” admitted Greg, holding him nearly as tight. “In heat or out, sex or no sex.”

“I know.” Mycroft kissed him again, then suddenly rolled them over, bracing himself on Greg’s chest as he rode his cock.

Greg groaned, surprised, but cupped his hips to help him. “I won’t knot,” he gasped. 

Mycroft nodded and moved a little faster, a little harder, eyes closing as he took his pleasure. Greg was enraptured by the sight, never having seen Mycroft like this. Always in heat Mycroft gave himself up to Greg’s control, let his body lead the way. But this, he knew it was what Mycroft needed and he was more than happy to give.

“Touch me,” ordered Mycroft after a few minutes of panting breaths.

Greg’s hand wrapped around Mycroft’s cock, tugging and twisting his wrist, watching the ecstasy build on his face. “Come, please,” said Greg.

And Mycroft did, with a moan, his thin ejaculate pooling on Greg’s stomach as he gasped.

Greg rolled them over again, kissing Mycroft as he chased his own orgasm. Mycroft moved his hips in time with his thrusts, breaking the kiss to nibble on Greg’s shoulder. “My good alpha.”

“Yours,” moaned Greg and came, the pleasure washing over him like a thunderclap.

Mycroft smoothed his hands down Greg’s bare back as he thrust through the orgasm, raising goosebumps as Greg moaned again.

Finally, Greg stilled and carefully pulled out, gathering Mycroft into his arms.

Kissing him one more time, Mycroft smiled against his lips. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” chuckled Greg, running a hand through Mycroft’s hair. “Was that okay then?”

“More than. I may require more data before we return to London, however.” He settled into Greg’s warm embrace.

Greg kissed the top of his head. “I’m here, Mycroft. However you need me.”

“I know.” Greg could feel his smile against his skin. There were still things that needed to be discussed, but they could do so in the morning light, as they faced it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to beltainefaire for the beta and to phipiohsum475 for the word wars.
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr at [merindab.tumblr.com](http://merindab.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also? This fic puts me at just over 500,000 words on this account!


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